The (Unexpected) Return
by ProbableImpossibilities
Summary: Henry Morgan has had many strange experiences in his long life. But even he never expected a case involving an old sailing ship to reunite him with someone he thought was lost forever. Similarly, Horatio Hornblower never imagined death could result in time travelling and awkward family reunions. Either way, Jo's gonna need a stiff drink.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: This fic takes some liberties with the timeline of Forever - specifically, Henry is older than he should be canonically. Just roll with it, please.

* * *

 _\- - July 4th, 2015 - -_

It was a deliciously cool midsummer's day in New York, and the open windows of Abe's Antiques allowed a light breeze to flow through the shop, otherwise closed for the holiday. Three people sat inside, sipping at tall glasses of lemonade and leaning back in antique wooden chairs while a smooth jazz track played from a well-used Victrola.

Jo paused for a moment to listen to the music. "I thought you weren't a fan of jazz, Henry?"

Henry Morgan cast an irked glance towards the older man on his right, though the frown was belied by the smile in his eyes. "I'm not. This is from Abe's collection."

"I'm weaning him onto it," Abe said, grinning. "Only taken fifty years so far."

Jo rested her elbows on her knees and shook her head. "I know it's been a while since you told me, but sometimes I still have a hard time believing it."

Henry raised an eyebrow, giving her a soft smile. "That I'm immortal."

Jo returned the expression. "Yeah."

After an… interesting series of events involving an ancient Roman dagger and a homicidal maniac, Henry had finally opened up and told her the truth about himself. Namely, that he was an immortal who never aged and who woke up naked in the nearest body of water every time he died. The news had, admittedly, been a bit of a shock. But all the evidence pointed to it being the truth, and she _was_ a detective. She straightened up. "Though it's surprisingly less difficult to believe that Abe's your son."

Abe, who had a wide, expressive face and was rapidly approaching seventy, leaned in towards Henry as if to offer up his own features for comparison with the other man's classical, eternally-thirty-five visage. "Must be the family resemblance."

Henry chuckled at that, and Jo couldn't resist a grin. Her M.E. turned partner seemed to be in a good mood; maybe she could wrangle some details of his personal life out of him. He'd been a closed book practically the whole time she'd known him, she reflected, so it was only fair. "Did you ever have any kids of your own?" She grimaced. "Not that Abe's not… that came out wrong…"

Abe waved it off, leaning back in his chair. Henry seemed to be taking the question with a much less blasé attitude, though he was trying to appear unaffected. "Just one," he said, tracing the rim of his glass with the tip of his finger. "From my first marriage. Before my curse."

Jo tilted her head slightly. "You mean Nora? The b- witch?"

Henry smiled wryly at her poor save. "No. Before her, even." He leaned back and crossed his legs, preparing for what was bound to be a long story. It always was with Henry. "My first marriage," he said, "was to a young woman - well, we were both young. I was… eighteen, I believe. Her name was Emily, and we had a whirlwind romance if ever there was one. Our son was born that same year. On this very date, actually, in 1776."

Jo grinned. "The child of the most British person I know, born on the most patriotic day in American history."

"It wasn't intentional, I assure you," Henry said. "And I'm fairly certain I'm the _only_ British person you know."

Jo was still grinning at him. "Please, continue."

Henry rolled his eyes, but complied. "That was all after I'd fought with my father. I was so angry with him that I actually took my wife's name. I was living in Kent as a country doctor, making enough for us to live comfortably, but not much more than that." He paused. "Emily died of consumption - err, tuberculosis when our son was eight. Two years later I married Nora, and he never forgave me. By the time he turned seventeen, finances were so tight that I had to send him out on his own. I'm not sure he ever forgave me for that, either. My first death happened a few months after I last saw him." He was gripping his glass tightly now and staring at his shoes. "What with being trapped in Bedlam, then jail… I never got the chance to see him again."

"Oh…" Jo bit her lip, and without thinking reached out her hand towards him, the idea of pulling him close and cuddling him flitting through her mind. Surprised at herself, she drew her hand back. But Abe had seen her make the gesture and was now watching with an almost anticipatory look in his eye. She settled for an awkward pat on Henry's knee, which caused him to look up in surprise and her to shrink back into her chair. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

Henry looked at her silently for a few moments. Then he sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it was all quite a long time ago." He glanced up at one of the shop's many grandfather clocks. "It's almost noon. Are you hungry?"

Jo smiled. If Henry wanted to change the subject, she'd let him. "I will be if this means it's finally time for Abe to start making this amazing barbecue you've been telling me about."

Abe stood up and rubbed his hands. "Oh, you won't be disappointed! If I do say so myself." He turned and headed for the stairs at the back of the shop.

Jo stood up and was about to follow him, when her phone rang. Seeing the number belonged to Hanson, she shot Henry an apologetic look and answered. "What's up?"

"Sorry to interrupt your day off," Hanson said, not sounding very sorry. "But we've got a weird one here."

"You need Henry."

"Right."

Jo sighed. "Alright, what've you got?" She listened as Hanson tried to explain the situation, then cupped her hand over the phone and turned to Henry. "Headless vic on 12th Avenue, near that new museum ship on Pier 80." She tried to remain poker-faced despite how clearly interesting this particular set of facts sounded. "It's your day off, you don't need to hold Mike's hand."

Henry appeared to be lost in thought. "Headless, you say? Rather unusual…" He glanced up at Abe. "...Though I'm sure Detective Hanson does indeed have the matter well under control."

Abe shrugged, smiling. "Food will still be here when you get back. Just make sure you tell me all about it, 'cause I have to admit I'm intrigued."

Henry looked like he was about to make a half-hearted protest, so Jo nudged him towards the door. "Thanks, Abe. We'll take my car."

The two of them left the shop, but not before Henry could grab a light scarf off the coat rack near the door.

* * *

 _\- - January 12th, 1858 - -_

Horatio Hornblower was getting tired of waiting for death.

He hated this, all of it; being confined to his bed, feeble, his mind slipping away from him. His pride, the only thing he had left, made it worse than torture. He never thought he would live this long anyway, and was disgusted with himself for having allowed his own cowardly fear of oblivion to drive him to this point, where even the last shreds of his dignity were gone and all that remained was for this shriveled shell to give up its ghost and expire. At least he had no extended relatives waiting outside to snap up his estate. Barbara was gone, and the Wellesleys had no need of or interest in his money, so everything would go to Richard. It was with some pleasure that he remembered that little Henrietta had always loved Smallbridge. Though she wasn't so little anymore… Doubtless she would force her layabout father to hold onto the house.

Horatio frowned. That was too harsh. He did in fact love his son, and Richard wasn't a layabout, precisely. What he was was a musician, and apparently a very good one, but music was an occupation totally alien to his tone-deaf father. He might have served more purpose in Horatio's eyes knitting sweaters for small dogs. Richard was also a man with an abundance of womanish feeling about him which Horatio suspected had been inherited from his birth mother, and whose saccharine pitying looks he found he could no longer stomach. He had therefore asked for peace in his final moments and rasped long enough to have all other human beings escorted out of the room. He would die as he had lived, alone with his own ceaseless thoughts.

His fingers curled into the sheets as he continued to wheeze out labored breaths. He allowed his eyes to close, and visions of all those who had gone before him began to appear in his mind's eye. He thought first of Barbara, picturing her as she had been that long-gone day aboard the _Lydia_ , tanned and confident and perfect. Then Maria, and the two little ones. Then Bush, then Archie, then Matthews and Styles, Longley and Wellard, the nameless multitude of men who had been torn to pieces under his command.

Horatio had only ever gone to church when attendance was required of him; he was not a spiritual man whatsoever. But he allowed himself some small comfort in the knowledge that he would at least share the act of dying with some very good company.

As he faded away, the last sensation in Horatio's mind was the smell of the sea, the sound of the wind in the sails, and the deck rolling beneath his feet. He tried to concentrate for a few moments more. _For a hallucination, this feels remarkably real,_ he thought.

Then everything went black.

* * *

 _\- - July 4th, 2015 - -_

Jo drove her car up to the end of the pier, which had been cordoned off by yellow police tape. Henry saw there was a small crowd beginning to gather, but not enough to block their progress towards the scene. He stood still for a moment on the pier, taking in his surroundings. There was a light breeze, and he could smell faintly the scent of salt floating in from the harbor. On the left-hand side of the pier were a few boats, bobbing on the Hudson. On the right was a small, square building with the half-painted word "Museum" above its glass doors; it looked dark inside, and littered with construction equipment, so it probably wasn't ready to open yet. And beyond that was…

Jo glanced at him inquiringly. "You know that ship?"

"Not per se," Henry said distractedly, gazing up at the tall wooden masts and flapping sails of the HMS _Hotspur._ "She's a twenty-gun quarter-deck sloop, sailed during the Napoleonic Wars. One of her most notable engagements was with an enemy frigate escorting a convoy carrying cargoes of Spanish gold."

"Neat," Jo said, well used to his historical tidbits by now. "So, according to Hanson, our vic's at the end of the pier."

Henry followed Jo down the pier until they encountered Detective Hanson, who pointed them towards the body. Henry knelt down to begin his initial examination. The victim was indeed headless, and still fully-clothed in a pair of khaki shorts and a lilac blouse. "Female, likely mid-twenties," he mumbled, gazing at the severed stump of the neck. "Cause of death was decapitation."

He could hear Hanson snort behind him. "Obviously."

"But…"

Jo leaned over. "But what?"

"Well, the cut is very clean," Henry said, pointing. "And it was done in one fell swoop. Most likely this was a weapon with a long blade, a sword, for instance. And whoever did it was quite skilled. I may be able to find out what type of blade it was once we get her back to the lab." He stood up. "Have you identified her yet?"

"Yeah," Hanson replied. "Anna Cardinal, according to her driver's license. We also found an employee ID card for a New York Maritime Museum. Apparently, she works on that thing." He pointed to the _Hotspur_.

"Well," Jo said, sizing up the ship once more. "Mike, why don't you canvas the area for witnesses? I'll go up there and see what I can find out." She turned to Henry. "You coming?"

"What, you're takin' him on the sailboat and not me?" Hanson protested.

Jo gave Henry a knowing look. "Let's just say I think he knows a little bit more about this historical stuff than you do," she said. So far, she was the only one at the police station who'd been entrusted with the knowledge of Henry's immortality. "He was practically giving me the tour while we were walking down the pier. No hard feelings."

Hanson grumbled a little, then moved off down the pier to start interviewing people in the crowd, leaving Henry and Jo to board the _Hotspur_.

The two of them climbed up the gangway connecting the old ship to the pier. Henry followed Jo up onto the raised quarterdeck, pensively running his hand along the rail on the starboard side. Of course, the ship must have been extensively renovated and restored since her fighting days, but it was strangely satisfying to imagine that these could be the very boards _he_ had walked, the heels of his sea-boots wearing the path of his morning paces into the wood, his hand perhaps tracing this same rail.

Jo was looking back at him now with an odd look on her face. "You okay?"

Henry shook himself out of his thoughts. "Fine. Why do you ask?"

"Hm, no reason." Jo shrugged. "You just tend to get … reflective when you're around old stuff with sentimental value." She raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you have nothing to do with this ship?"

Curse her observational skills and finely-honed detective's intuition. One of these days she would find out everything he'd ever done in his two hundred years of life. It might just be easier to start being more open with her. He was about to reply, when there was a strange noise from the back of the ship. It sounded like a heavy thump, muffled by a few layers of wood.

Jo turned immediately towards the captain's cabin, her hand straying to her hip. She looked back at Henry and tossed her head towards the cabin. He nodded.

After pausing briefly with her fingers wrapped around the handle, Jo flung open the cabin door and rushed inside, Henry hot on her heels. An instant later, there was a smaller thump as Jo discovered how low the cabin's ceiling was, via a wooden beam to the head. "Owww…" she groaned, rubbing her forehead while scanning the room. "Huh, looks empty- oh." Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What the hell?"

Henry strained to see what she was talking about; she appeared to be staring at the floor behind a small wooden desk. He took a few steps into the cabin, ducking his head. Suddenly, there was a quiet groan, a shuffling sound, and a man rose unsteadily to his feet, leaning on the back of the desk chair for support. He was dressed in full 19th century naval uniform, the single epaulet on his left shoulder signifying a rank of commander. He looked young, perhaps in his early to mid-twenties. And his face was shockingly familiar; in fact, Henry would have recognized it instantly if he could believe it was really there.

The man blinked, staring at him in confusion, then glanced around the cabin, stumbled a little, and finally turned back to stare at Henry. After a few seconds that seemed to stretch into forever, he spoke. "Father?"

* * *

 **AN: I have seen this type of crossover done twice before on AO3, but not here, so I figured I'd make my own contribution. I ended up departing from canon with regards to Henry's age because if I hadn't he would actually be three years younger than Horatio, and that would just destroy my headcanon entirely, so. But I really feel like Henry makes a convincing Horatio-dad because 1) he's a doctor, and 2) he's played by a noticeably older Ioan and is generally a much more mature character. Also, pushing back the date of his first death actually makes it more historically accurate, because the slave trade had been abolished for seven years by 1814 anyway. That's my list of disclaimers; if you still think this fic is believable, by all means continue to stick around.**


	2. Chapter 2

After two hundred years, it was not easy to surprise Henry Morgan. But now he was completely dumbfounded. He was almost afraid to believe what his own senses were telling him, as though acknowledgment would dispel the vision. But as the seconds passed by and the man continued to stand there, blinking at him blearily and swaying a little, Henry managed to overcome his shock long enough to murmur, hoping, almost pleading, "...Horatio?" He took a step forward. "Can it be?"

Horatio carefully negotiated his way around the desk, his head ducking naturally to avoid the ceiling beams. He came to a stop in front of Henry, looking him up and down without a trace of surprise. "I must be dead, then," he said, calmly. "I mean no offense, but I should like to see my wife." And with that, he sidestepped Henry and walked out of the cabin.

Jo was the first to react. "Hey! NYPD!" she snapped, darting after him. "I have more than a few questions for you!"

Henry stepped out onto the deck, his mind reeling. Horatio was alive. How? Did he have the same curse? But the circumstances weren't right. He was fully-clothed, for one thing, and hadn't re-appeared in the water.

Horatio had reached the forward rail of the quarterdeck and was studying the skyline with a furrowed brow. "Odd sort of afterlife," he muttered.

Jo reached him first, tapping him none too gently on the shoulder until he turned around. "Not the afterlife, just New York," she said, flashing her badge. "How exactly do you know Henry?"

"New York?" Horatio looked Jo up and down as if noticing her for the first time. "...No," he said after a moment's thought. "This can't New York. Because I am dead." He pointed towards Henry. "And he is dead. And New York…" He motioned towards the skyline. "...does not look like that. Not to mention that it is extremely unlikely that I was transported from my bed in Smallbridge across the Atlantic without being aware of it." He turned back to gazing out over the rail. "I wonder if Bush's got his leg back…?" he mumbled distractedly.

Jo gave Henry a Look. The Look said "what is happening" and "I need a drink" and "do something about this" all at once. Henry found he felt much the same way. "Horatio," he said, closing the distance between the two of them and reaching out to grasp his shoulder. The warm firmness of it finally convinced him that this was real, was actually happening. Horatio winced at his touch and pulled away; the reaction sent a stab of shock and pain through Henry's chest, but he continued. "You're alive," he said, his voice full of emotion. "And so am I. I have been. But I … I couldn't reach you." He gestured towards the skyline. "And we _are_ in New York, just two hundred years in the future." He smiled apologetically. "I know, it's a lot to take in. I promise I'll explain everything … or as much as I can, anyway."

Horatio frowned. "The future?"

"Yes, the future!" Henry wanted so badly to scoop him up in his arms and never let him go again, but recalling the way Horatio had reacted to being touched held him back. "The year now is 2015."

Horatio regarded him with wide eyes, then turned towards the shore. His gaze followed the cars down 12th Avenue, flitted between buildings and billboards, surveyed the small boats moored on the other side of the pier and watched as one of them motored away, the water frothing in its wake. He turned back around, and for a moment there was a look of horrible realization plain on his face. Then, almost immediately, he seemed to shut down. His features arranged themselves into a careful mask of non-feeling, an expression so practiced that it happened in an instant. This accomplished, he fell silent for what felt like far too long. His eyes were looking straight ahead, but didn't seem to be focusing on anything in particular. Henry could see Jo itching to break the silence, but they were both caught waiting for him to speak, wondering frantically what his reaction would be. Finally, Horatio opened his mouth, and cleared his throat. "Ha - h'm."

Jo was still watching him, waiting for him to say something, but he never did. After a few moments more, he seemed to forget about her and Henry altogether and started pacing, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. The soft thuds of his buckled shoes on the deck quickly fell into a regular rhythm; Henry noticed he was taking the exact same amount of steps each way. He sensed that there was a whirlwind of thought racing behind that impassive face, but he couldn't begin to guess what those thoughts were, or what he could do to assuage them.

Jo sidled up alongside Henry. "So, uh," she said in a low voice, "don't tell me this is the long-lost son we were talking about earlier…?"

Henry nodded. "His name's Horatio Hornblower. He became a naval officer. A very good one."

"How good?"

"Well, he started off with nothing, and by the end of his career he was an Admiral of the Fleet, a Knight of the Order of the Bath, and a Baron. This ship was his first real command."

"Oh. Wow." Jo watched the pacing figure with renewed interest. "But how did he get here? You don't think he's the same as you?"

"It's unlikely," Henry said. "At the same time, I have no idea how this could have happened." He found himself smiling. "Not that I'm complaining, mind."

"Aw." Jo was smiling, too. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a little rub. "You know what, take my car and get him back to the antiques shop. You've got a lot of catching up to do."

Henry would have loved nothing more than to take her up on her offer, but… "What about the case? What about you?"

"Hanson and I can finish things here," Jo said. "And I can have him drop me off at the shop when we're done. Then I'll take my car back and get out of your hair."

"Thank you," Henry said, truly grateful.

Jo smiled. "Hey, that's what friends are for." She stole one last glance at Horatio. "...Do you think he knows anything about the murder?"

"Jo!"

"Sorry, sorry." She threw her hands up and backed away towards the gangway, tossing him her keys. "You'll have to introduce us properly some time," she said, then left the ship and started walking down the pier.

Henry watched Horatio pace for a few more moments, trying to decide how to interrupt him. He found himself taking note of how much his appearance seemed to have changed since the last time he'd seen him. Granted, that had been a very long time ago, and Henry knew memories couldn't always be trusted, but he could still vividly picture the pale, gangly youth who had left Portsmouth swimming in his brand-new uniform. Before him now was a tanned young man, radiating quiet authority even in this agitated state and looking perfectly at home exactly where he was, striding across the deck of his ship.

Henry realized suddenly that Horatio's pacing had stopped, and he was being stared at. "Who was that woman?" Horatio asked. He was standing stiffly, his hands still clasped behind his back.

"A police detective," Henry said, "and a good friend. Her name is Jo Martinez."

Horatio blinked. "A woman police detective?" His confusion passed as quickly as it had come. "Well. I suppose if this is indeed the future, much has changed."

Henry smiled. It was extremely formal, and didn't sound anything like 'glad you're alive, Dad,' but it was a start. "It has. It will likely take some time to explain everything."

"I expect it will." Horatio, despite his outer calm, still seemed slightly rattled. "Perhaps we might discuss this further in my quarters?"

Henry coughed. "Ah, actually, I had hoped you might come back with me to my house. You will need somewhere to stay."

Horatio seemed to realize on his own that of course the _Hotspur_ was no longer his, and his features twitched as he tried to suppress his embarrassment. "Thank you most kindly for the offer," he said, "but I shouldn't wish to impose - "

"That was actually not a request," Henry said, and when Horatio looked like he was about to mount some protest, he decided tough love was necessary. "You're confused and completely out of your element, and I will not have you wandering around on your own just to get mugged or run over by a car."

Horatio frowned slightly. "What is a car?"

Henry smiled. "You're about to find out. Come on." He started heading towards the gangway, then paused and turned around when he noticed Horatio hadn't moved. "Well?"

Horatio cast one last, long glance around the ship, looking torn. Finally, he let out a quiet "ha - h'm," adjusted his hat, and followed Henry onto the pier.

* * *

Horatio tried to keep his eyes from wandering as he followed Henry down the pier. He had already made a fool of himself in front of the police-woman, and though logically he knew there could have been no avoiding it, there was nothing he hated more than to appear foolish, especially as a first impression. He was therefore attempting to maintain as much of his dignity as possible, and for the moment that meant acting as though he was not curious about this new world in the least. This was, however, proving extremely difficult, and was in fact testing all of his carefully-cultivated powers of self-composure. What perplexed him most was how the small boat he'd seen pull away from the pier had done so with such incredible speed, against the wind and without any sail or oars. Perhaps if it was some kind of steamer… but he hadn't seen any steam. He resolved to ask Henry about it as soon as they were out of the public eye, though even then he would be sure not to sound too interested.

The two of them reached the end of the pier, which was blocked off by taut yellow banners with the word "police" printed across their length. Henry grabbed one and stretched it above his head, ducking through. Horatio felt the material between his fingers as he followed; it was strangely smooth and inorganic, yet behaved almost like fabric.

"Here we are," said Henry, reaching into his pocket and approaching what looked like a strange sort of vehicle. It resembled the things Horatio could still see speeding along the riverbank, on a flat, dark-grey path that must have been a road. "This is a car," Henry said, turning what proved to be a key in a small lock on the vehicle's door and pulling it open. "It's rather like a carriage without the need for horses. This one belongs to Jo, actually." He walked around to the other side of the "car" and pulled open a second door, holding it open. Horatio hesitated in spite of himself, and Henry smiled reassuringly. "In you get," he said. "You may want to doff your hat, the ceiling is a bit low."

Horatio complied, flopping awkwardly into the seat and holding his hat in his lap. Henry swung the door closed and walked around the front to slide into his own seat, positioning himself behind a small wheel. Horatio found it briefly humorous that this 'car' might be steered like a ship.

"Oh, here," Henry said suddenly, and reached across Horatio's body to a spot beyond his right shoulder. Horatio reflexively pressed himself back against the seat, watching as Henry withdrew and pulled a grey belt across his chest, attaching it to the base of the seat so that it rested across his hips and over his shoulder. "Always fasten your seatbelt," Henry said, doing the same for himself. "It's an important safety feature."

Horatio tensed. There was only one reason he could think of for needing to be strapped down in such a way. "Do these … cars … make sudden, jarring movements?"

"Only if there's an accident," Henry said, smiling reassuringly again. "Don't worry, I happen to be an extremely cautious driver."

There was nothing Horatio could do but watch as Henry inserted the car key into the side of the wheel and gave it a hard turn, filling the car with a low rumbling sound. "That's the engine," Henry explained, pressing lightly on a pedal near the floor with his foot. As he did so, the car began to move, slowly pulling away from the pier. "It actually uses internal combustion to move a series of pistons up and down, which generates power."

"Combustion?" Horatio felt his eyes widen. "You mean it explodes?!"

"Well, yes, in a sense. But it's perfectly safe." Henry flipped a switch and began slowly turning the wheel to starboard. "People have had over a hundred years to perfect this technology. They say these things could even be driving themselves soon, though I personally find that to be a bit much..."

Horatio stared through the curved glass pane at the front of the car. They had reached the road that ran along the riverbank; other cars flew by in front of them, a mere couple of feet away. Henry was looking up through the glass at a yellow box that hung above the road. It seemed to have some sort of light source inside, shining out from behind a bit of red glass. It, like the rest of the city lights Horatio had seen thus far, seemed uncommonly bright. As he studied it, he noticed that the cars traveling down the main road seemed to be slowing and eventually rolling to a stop.

The red light in the box went out suddenly, and a green light appeared. An instant later, Henry pressed his foot down on the floor pedal, and the car peeled away from the pier and turned onto the road. Horatio was amazed when he grasped that the lights were a form of signalling, to control traffic. When the amazement faded a few seconds later, he realized that the car was now moving very, very fast.

All around him, the world flew by in a blur. People walking along the side of the road appeared for an instant and then were gone. The noise from the engine increased as the car built up speed, all but flying down the road. Horatio had never experienced anything remotely like this in his entire life, and it was absolutely terrifying. He turned his head slightly to look out the window next to his seat, and immediately wished he hadn't. Now the all-too-familiar complaints of his weak stomach were beginning to make themselves known, as they did whenever he started out on a voyage or rode in a small boat on rough waves. He tried shutting his eyes, but he could still sense the car's movement.

A groan burst out of him, and he saw Henry take his eyes off the road to look at him with concern. "Are you alright?"

"Fine!" Horatio snapped. He did not want the man distracted at this rate of speed. But he could feel a pain in his head, and the bile was rising in his throat. He gripped the arms of the seat and willed himself to calm down. Never mind that he was beginning to feel hot, his head was pounding, his stomach twisted with agony. He absolutely could not afford to be sick. This wasn't even Henry's car. Imagine what the police-woman would think of him if he ruined the upholstery.

Henry glanced over at him again. "Are you sure? You look pale. We can stop for a bit, if you like."

"No," Horatio said firmly. It would be the ultimate weakness to have to stop for a break after less than a minute of travel. Bush had comported himself better while bumping over ruined French roads and bleeding from the stump of his lost foot. The reminder of his old friend's iron constitution made Horatio feel deeply ashamed by the betrayal of his insides. He mentally cursed his own stomach, then cursed all stomachs everywhere for good measure. If nothing else, at least this car ride was smooth going.

Suddenly, there was a terrible jarring bump, Henry said "Damned potholes," and Horatio flew forward and vomited into his hat.

* * *

The twenty minutes that followed were quite possibly the most miserable of Horatio's mostly miserable life. Luckily, the car spent much of its time crawling through traffic, and Henry drove noticeably slower when it was not.

They finally came to a stop at a corner storefront, and Horatio stumbled out of the wretched vehicle, feeling weak at the knees and still carefully holding his hat upside-down. He briefly surveyed the shop; through its windows, he could see an assortment of furniture and other odds and ends. A sign above the door read "Abe's Antiques," and featured a drawing of an English merchant ship.

Henry appeared at his shoulder, replacing the car keys in his pocket. "There are rooms above the shop," he said, pulling out a different set of keys and unlocking the glass doors. "We have a guest room, but it's a bit cluttered, I'm afraid."

Horatio entered the shop and turned in a slow circle. There was some noise that sounded like it could be music, but he didn't see any musicians. It was probably just as well, because he might have deliberately injured them. The "music" involved squealing trumpets, strange rhythms, and a lot of terrible metallic crashing, and above it all, a sharp crackling noise. Horatio felt he would go mad if he had to listen to it for long, but it never seemed to end.

Henry re-locked the doors and walked towards him. There was something fidgety about his manner; he appeared to be readying himself for something. A moment later, he reached out an arm and, gently, wrapped it around Horatio's shoulders. Horatio stiffened, surprised, uncomfortable, still suffering under the auditory barrage, and really hoping that Henry's gesture wouldn't knock his hat out of his hands because that would be just -

"I love you," Henry said. His voice sounded slightly wobbly, and his eyes were suspiciously shiny. "I've missed you. I never forgave myself for losing you."

Horatio extricated himself from the half-embrace. He had been trying to avoid a personal conversation with Henry, because he could feel the old bitterness welling up within him. He had led a hard life because of him; the lonely life of a poor, friendless orphan. He had married a woman he did not love because she had been kind to him while he was destitute, and he had been afraid to approach the great love of his life because she would find him shabby and common. And the moment all his hardship was over, when he'd finally dragged himself up to the top, he was told that his father Henry Hornblower had actually been Henry Morgan, the scion of one of the wealthiest merchant families in England, and all his life Horatio could have had mountains of money at his fingertips if he'd only known to ask. That discovery had, in its way, been the worst blow of all. But he couldn't possibly give voice to any of this; he was well aware of the ferocity of his own temper when fully unleashed, and he didn't think it wise to mortally wound his emotionally-vulnerable host, lest he be turned out on his ear with no money and no idea how this mad world worked. So he kept his expression blank, and simply said, "You've been alive all this time … Why did you not return?"

Henry gave a sad smile and motioned him towards a nearby settee. "It's a long story…"


	3. Chapter 3

Henry told Horatio the story of his curse, everything from his ill-fated trip on the _Empress of Africa_ up to the most recent events with Adam, though leaving out quite a few details which he considered to be too disturbing or personal. Horatio had listened with rapt attention in the beginning, but as the tale stretched on, he began to look increasingly distracted. Henry frowned. "Is something wrong?"

Horatio, whose eyes had been searching the room, turned back to face him. "Well," he said, "it is all a bit … fantastic."

Henry's eyes widened. "You don't believe me? After all…" He gestured widely. "...this?"

"No, it's not that, I simply…" Horatio glanced around the room again. His face was beginning to show signs of pain through its usual stoic facade. "It's difficult to accept … all at once…" Something pushed him suddenly past the breaking point, and he roared, "Where are these thrice-blasted musicians and will they never stop their infernal racket?!"

Henry blinked. "What?" He listened for a moment, then realized the Victrola was still playing Abe's jazz record. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, standing up and crossing the shop. "There are no musicians here; it's a recording. The music is sort of … stored on the grooves in this disc. Would you like to see?"

Horatio's curiosity seemed to win out over his hatred for the jazz, and he inspected the Victrola with fascination. "This must have other, more useful applications, surely," he said.

"Well, music is the main one," Henry said. He decided for now not to tell Horatio that the record player was actually already outmoded; the phone conversation might not go well considering he didn't have one of his own to show him. Best leave that one to Jo. He lifted the needle, the music stopped, and he heard Horatio let out a sigh of relief. "I feel I must apologize for Abe's taste," Henry said. "Free-form jazz takes some getting used to."

Horatio gave a slight nod. "Abe is the boy you rescued from Poland, correct?"

"Well, he's not exactly a boy anymore," Henry said, glancing towards the stairs. "He's probably still making dinner. He's quite the accomplished cook."

As he finished speaking, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Smiling at the perfect timing, he started preparing to introduce Abe to his adopted brother, then froze as a giggling older woman stumbled down the stairs. She was in the midst of pulling the sleeve of her dress back up over her shoulder. When she saw Henry, she froze, flushed a bright crimson, then bolted for the door, calling out a strained "Goodbye, Abe!" as she went.

"See you again next week?" came the response from up the stairs, and a few seconds later Abe descended, his shirt untucked and rumpled. He, too, froze when he caught sight of Henry. "...Old friend from high school," he said.

"Abraham!"

"I thought you'd be out!" Abe quickly tucked his shirt back in. "It's a holiday. You think I was just gonna sit here and twiddle my thumbs?" He stepped out into the shop, then spotted Horatio. A few moments passed while he studied the young man's face, then glanced back at Henry, took a second look, then raised an eyebrow. "Cloning yourself and dressing it up like Lin Manuel Miranda is a weird way to celebrate Independence Day," he said.

"Ha - h'm," replied Horatio.

Henry sighed. This wasn't the sort of introduction he'd been hoping for, but it would have to do.

* * *

Back on Pier 80, Jo was feeling disappointed. After Henry had left, she'd searched the entire ship, but hadn't seen anyone else. Hanson hadn't had much luck with finding witnesses, either, and it was starting to get dark. At this point, they might as well head home for the night and try again tomorrow.

She approached Hanson where he stood at the beginning of the pier. He anticipated her question and asked it first. "Think it's about time we packed it in for the day?"

"Yeah," Jo said. "I'll come back tomorrow and see if any of the ship museum staff are in."

"You gonna take the doc with you?"

"Nah… I'd better let him get started with the autopsy. We still need to figure out what the murder weapon was."

Hanson nodded. "Hey, speaking of Henry… who was that guy he left with? The one dressed up like George Washington."

Jo stifled a laugh. Somehow she didn't think Horatio would appreciate that comparison. She realized, though, that she would now have to come up with an explanation - Henry looked older than Horatio, but not enough for the father-son relationship to be believable. At the same time, there could be no denying the family resemblance. "Oh, he's Henry's… brother," she said, hoping Henry would forgive her for this. "He just came over from England."

"And the costume?"

"Hell if I know," Jo said, shrugging her shoulders. It would be unwise to make the story too complicated. She'd let Henry fill in whatever details were necessary when Hanson got curious enough to ask him about it.

"Huh." Hanson walked with his hands in his pockets. "Well, Henry's a pretty eccentric guy. Kinda makes sense that his family'd be kooky, too."

Jo shook her head, smiling. Funny how used they all were to Henry's weirdness. At least in this situation, it made things a little easier.

* * *

Horatio stood in silence while Henry explained the situation to Abe. He was taking the opportunity to study the man; he had an open, friendly face, and Horatio supposed it was a credit to him that he didn't seem too shocked by this whole state of affairs. Horatio, on the other hand, was a bit surprised by Abe's age. Henry had told him that the war from which he'd rescued Abe had taken place some time ago, but Horatio hadn't gotten the impression that it had been _that_ long. The man must have been sixty years old, at least. Observing the two of them, though, it was clear that there existed between them the implicit understanding and closeness of a happy family. It made Horatio feel as though his own presence was an intrusion; compared to the amount of time Henry had spent with Abe, Horatio was practically a stranger.

"...lo? Hello? Anybody in there?"

With a start, Horatio realized that Abe was addressing him. "Ah, yes, my apologies," he mumbled, hoping he wasn't getting red in the face.

Abe grinned and held out his hand. "I said it's nice to meet ya."

Horatio accepted the handshake, then suddenly found himself pulled into a firm embrace, receiving a few hard pats on the back. Unprepared, all he could do was wriggle helplessly and endure the squeezing until it ended as quickly as it had begun. Abe drew back, still grinning. "Kid definitely takes after you, pops; he's a space cadet."

Horatio wasn't sure what that meant, but it might have been a mild insult, because Henry huffed. "It's been a rather trying day for him."

"Well, in that case, he'll be needing some good food," Abe said. "We've still got ribs waiting upstairs."

Horatio felt the protest of his weak stomach. "...Unfortunately, I seem to have no appetite at present."

Henry had that damned expression of concern on his face again. "Are you feeling alright? Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"I'd say he needs to get acquainted with a shower whether he's feeling alright or not," Abe said, turning to Horatio. "Not to be rude, but you smell like gunpowder and a crate of rotting fish. Though I guess it's understandable, since you're from a less hygienic time."

Horatio bristled. Was he really implying that he didn't wash regularly?! "I take my personal cleanliness very seriously, sir," he said. "Even in the Baltic, I would have water pumped over me every morning at sunrise!"

Henry was aghast. "Are you mad? You could have given yourself hypothermia!"

"I don't believe the wisdom of my personal habits to be any of your concern!" Horatio snapped.

Henry fell silent, and Horatio saw instantly that he'd hurt him. He now wore the same kind of expression Bush had gotten whenever Horatio rebuffed his mothering tendencies. But whereas old reliable Bush could always be counted on to recover, Horatio was not at all sure the same could be said for Henry. "...My apologies," he said. "I should not have spoken so harshly."

Henry shook his head. "It's alright," he said with a small smile. "I do believe, however, that a hot shower may help you feel better. Or perhaps a bath, whichever you prefer."

Horatio sighed. "If you insist." As he followed Henry up the staircase, his brow furrowed. Henry had mentioned a shower. Such things had existed in his time, and he'd experienced one, once; he recalled them as unreliable collections of bamboo-painted pipes, and he'd never had one installed in his own house. Hopefully by now the technology had improved.

Henry led him into a small white room with a grey tiled floor. The bath was a low white tub that ran along the side of the room and seemed to be firmly rooted to the floor. A thin pipe extended above the tub from the wall, with a nozzle at its end. In the same wall was a silver handle, the turning of which apparently was how the shower was operated. Henry handed him a fluffy grey towel and left the room; once he was gone, Horatio stripped off his clothes and stepped into the tub.

He grasped the faucet handle and pulled it towards him experimentally. He was greeted with the sharp hiss of water spraying down on him from the nozzle. It was lukewarm and pressurized, though not nearly as much so as a ship's pump. Horatio decided to try the hot water, and so turned the handle to the left. A few seconds later, the water began to heat up, and within a few seconds more it was scalding his skin. Wincing, he turned the handle back to the right, and the water cooled.

He fiddled with the handle until the water was just hot enough to warm him without burning holes in his skin. He'd always enjoyed his cold deck dousings, but the sensation he was experiencing right now was just _perfect_. He could feel the tension draining from his muscles as the warm water ran over him, and before he knew it he was leaning against the back wall of the shower and sliding to the floor, pulling his knees up against his chest. As he sat there, water droplets striking his face and running down his nose, his calm, unemotional facade disappeared. He allowed himself to feel again the terrible crushing weight he'd first felt when he'd realized what had happened to him, which he'd pushed down and suppressed in the presence of Henry and the police woman and Abe. He allowed it out now, hoping it might wash away with the water. Instead, it settled over him like a shroud, filling his mind with black thoughts.

He was now trapped in a world where he didn't belong, where everything was completely foreign and strange. That very strangeness made him vulnerable, and utterly dependant on others. There was no outer image of the stern captain or the aloof admiral for him to hide behind now. It was as though he was a midshipman again, stumbling around on the deck of the _Justinian_ unable to tell a head from a halliard. Only this time, it was the entire world which he knew nothing about.

He closed his eyes and sat in the shower for a long while. Eventually, he sighed. "Damn," he muttered, then rose to his feet, picked up the soap, and started scrubbing himself down. He scrubbed ferociously, until his skin began to redden. _I'll show that old billy goat which one of us practices superior personal hygiene,_ he thought savagely. _After this, I am going to be bleeding soap. Then he'll certainly think twice before saying I smell like fish!_

It wasn't the most glorious or even the most reasonable of fights to pick, but it was enough to help him push the terrible feeling back down, which was what he needed to keep going. For now, at least.

* * *

Abe glanced at his watch. "He's taking a long time in there. Not gonna be any hot water left at this rate." He turned to Henry, looking slightly worried. "He knows I was joking about the fish thing, right? Well, mostly joking."

Henry sighed. "He likely doesn't. He was always serious, even as a child."

Abe nodded slightly, then paused. "Hey, are you alright?"

"Me?" Henry blinked. "I - yes, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you just reunited with your kid from two hundred years ago," Abe said. "And he's kind of a jerk."

"Wha- No he's not!" Henry sputtered. "Shame on you, Abraham! He's just getting used to things! Imagine if you were suddenly thrown into an entirely new world you didn't know anything about." He leaned back in his chair. "It's been hard enough for me, adjusting gradually over the years. He just needs time."

Abe threw his hands up. "Alright, alright. But if he snaps at you like that again…"

A knock at the door saved Henry from further conversation down that road. He could see Jo waving at him through the glass doors, and he found himself smiling as he went to greet her. "So," he said as he opened the doors, "how goes the case?"

"Not very far since you left," Jo said, stepping into the shop. "Interviewing bystanders didn't turn up anything, and there was no one else on the ship. I'm gonna go back tomorrow and see if any of Anna's coworkers show up." She stood awkwardly for a moment, then held out her hand. "Anyway, I'm just here for my keys."

"Ah, yes," Henry said, reaching into his pocket. "I nearly forgot." He held the keys up, about to place them in her hand, then stopped. "You haven't tried Abe's ribs yet."

Jo laughed. "It's been hours! Look, it's dark outside."

"We can reheat them," Henry said. "It will take a few minutes, though, since we don't own an eldritch abomination of modern cooking science."

"A what?"

"A microwave."

Jo shook her head, smirking and grabbing the keys. "Oh, alright. But I shouldn't stay long. We both have to work tomorrow, you know."

"Shouldn't stop us from finishing our holiday, in my opinion," Henry said, intercepting a knowing look from Abe while the three of them headed up the stairs.

"Kinda smells like soap in here," Jo said as she walked into the dining room. She froze. "Woah. Uh…"

Horatio was standing behind the table, still slightly damp from the shower and absolutely stark naked. He too was frozen in shock. Though his face and arms were tanned from time spent at sea, the rest of him was pale-white and thin and extremely bony. His gangly limbs were tensed, ready to bolt. "I, ah, sorry, I… was not expecting… a… woman… to be…"

"Go put some pants on," Jo said, her eyes already shut.

Horatio darted into the bathroom.

When the door slammed, Jo cracked open an eye. "Is it safe?"

"...Yes," Henry said, feeling a little stunned himself. "Yes, I believe so."

Jo shook her head, smirking. "Poor guy. We keep meeting in awkward situations."

"I think he just carries awkwardness around with him, like an aura or something," Abe said, opening the refrigerator and grabbing the ribs. "Anyway, pops, you're definitely gonna have to set some ground rules on running around the house naked."

Jo glanced at Henry, an eyebrow raised suggestively. "You do realize you're talking to someone who runs around naked in public?"

"Oh, so that's the family resemblance." Abe stroked his chin. "Didn't know that sort of thing was genetic."

Henry sighed. "I really ought to know better than to allow you two to be in the same room together."

Horatio was apparently a fast dresser. He stumbled out of the bathroom less than a minute after he'd entered, once again in full uniform, his thin fingers in the midst of pulling his hair back into a sloppy queue. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room for a few moments, then cleared his throat and addressed Jo. "...You are the woman police detective?"

Jo looked amused. "Well, I am a woman and a detective, so I guess so." She held out her hand. "Jo Martinez. Now we've officially met."

Horatio shook her hand after a brief hesitation. "Admiral Sir Horatio Lord Hornblower, K.B." He glanced briefly at the single epaulette on his uniform. "...Although it seems I've been considerably demoted."

Jo shrugged. "That's one more fancy shoulder pad than I've ever had. Anyway, it's nice to meet you." She grinned. "If you ever want some real up-to-date lessons on modern technology, call me, okay? Henry's still living in the '60s when it comes to that stuff."

It was obvious that didn't mean anything to Horatio, but he nodded politely. Suddenly, there was a muffled 'boom' from outside, then another. Horatio gave a start, and for a moment, there was real surprise and even a hint of fear in his eyes. "That sounded like cannon fire! Is America at war?!"

Henry was momentarily confused; upon glancing out the window, however, he remembered what the source of the sounds was. "Oh, no," he said, motioning Horatio towards the window. "Well, actually, the 'war' situation is a bit complicated, but those aren't cannons. They're fireworks. Americans set them off every fourth of July to celebrate their independence."

The fireworks were just visible from this part of the house, if one didn't mind craning one's neck. Horatio looked supremely awkward, his tall, lean body twisting as he gaped up at the night sky. "Trust the Americans to come up with something so ridiculous," he muttered. "If they _are_ at war, this is a monumental waste of munitions."

"Psh." Abe looked mildly offended. "America can afford to shoot off a few bottle rockets on its birthday."

Jo smiled. "Oh, speaking of birthdays…"

Henry, for some unknown reason, was infinitely happy she'd remembered. Perhaps it was the confirmation that he could count on her to listen to his winding tales and believe them, be interested enough to hold onto the details. It made him glad he'd decided to open up to her, as though there might come a time when he would be able to tell her absolutely anything without hesitation. He both loved and feared the prospect. For now, he glanced over at Horatio. "Indeed. Perhaps we should open a bottle of wine in celebration."

Horatio looked back and forth between him and Jo, frowning confusedly at both of them. "...Whose birthday is it?"

There were a few moments of silence, eventually broken by Abe. "Yours, ya dingus!"

"Oh." Horatio blinked. "Oh, yes. Of course." There was a long pause, during which the unspoken 'I forgot' hung heavy in the air. "...But there's no need to go to any trouble on my account."

"Nonsense," Henry said, already inspecting the wine rack in the kitchen. He recalled that during the time Horatio had just arrived from, French wines had been entirely off-limits. He had some California vintages, but he always found they lacked the finesse of European wines. He decided on a bottle of Spanish madeira and slid it off the rack. "Since the weather is so temperate, I would suggest we go up to the roof."

"You can see the ridiculous fireworks better from there," Jo teased, nudging Horatio.

"And it's more romantic," Abe said quietly in Henry's ear. When Henry turned around to look at him, he flicked his eyes toward Jo, twice, pointedly. Henry narrowed his eyes at him. "Now is not the time," he hissed, watching Jo herd an oddly reluctant Horatio towards the roof stairs.

Abe said nothing more, but arched an eyebrow. The expression was meaningful enough.


	4. Chapter 4

\- - July 5th - -

Horatio's eyes snapped open, and he sat up in bed. He'd been dreaming, he was sure, but already he could remember nothing of it except a vague feeling of unease.

He glanced around him. It was still dark, though he could sense the sky was growing lighter behind the curtains over the window. He was in Henry's guest room, the one he'd said had been a bit cluttered. It was in fact so cluttered Horatio had no idea how he'd managed to leap the boxes to get into bed.

There was a small clock on the nightstand next to him; it was seven o'clock in the morning. Exactly four hours after the last time he'd checked, which in turn had been four hours after he'd first lain down to sleep. This was not surprising, as he had never been entirely able to break out of the sleeping habits he'd acquired as a watch-keeping officer. In fact, he'd had a very restful night by his own standards. He might just as easily have lain awake all night long, tormented by the alien sounds of the city and his own lack of knowledge about any of it.

He decided he might as well rise. He had no idea what time Henry and Abe were in the habit of starting their days, but he might prefer it if they weren't up yet. He'd determined to do some exploring of this strange place on his own, no matter what Henry said about getting 'mugged.' He was a military man, he could damn well fend for himself.

His clothes were scattered about the room, lying on top of boxes and chair-arms and lamps. As he dressed, he recalled the events of the night before. They had all gone up onto the roof of the building to drink the wine and watch the fireworks. Horatio had in truth been afraid that his lifelong discomfort with heights would cause him to embarrass himself yet again in front of the others, but he was lucky to be seated far enough away from the edge of the roof that he could not see over it to the ground below. They'd sat at a long table under a pergola, the rockets continually bursting in the distance. Horatio hadn't been feeling up for making an effort at conversation, so he was content to listen while Henry, Abe, and Jo talked and engaged in friendly banter. The latter two both had sharp wits armed with equally-sharp tongues; Henry's manner was more subdued, but his own verbal barbs were in a way far deadlier, as the intended victim would often not discover his fate until the rapier was already buried to its hilt in his chest. Horatio saw them all to be far better conversationalists than himself, and so was glad of his decision to abstain. He felt that none of the others had particularly missed any contributions from him, in any case. Jo seemed to be very comfortable with both Henry and Abe… but especially Henry. Horatio had been in love many times and recognized the emotion when he saw it reflected in others; it struck him as curious that neither Henry nor Jo seemed willing to acknowledge what was so obviously going on between them. But that was their business, and he was in no position to risk becoming involved.

Finished dressing, he navigated his way around and over the boxes and slipped out of the room. In the kitchen, he found Abe sitting at the table, buttering a thin piece of bread. "You're up early," the old man said, regarding him with a raised eyebrow.

"Hm." Horatio glanced around surreptitiously. "Is Henry awake?"

Abe motioned with his butter knife towards the bathroom. "He's in the shower. You hungry? There's toast, and fruit in the fridge… I can make somethin', if you want."

Horatio's empty stomach rumbled, but he needed to take advantage of this opportunity. "I'm going out," he said, facing Abe with a challenge in his expression, daring the man to try to stop him.

"Like hell you are," Abe said, placing the butter knife down on the table. He raised an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth drew upwards in a smile. "Not dressed like that, anyway."

Horatio scowled at him, but he was a bit curious. "You're not worried I'll get myself into trouble?" he said sardonically.

"Yeah, a bit," Abe said, "but you can do what you want. Henry won't like it, but he'll live. He's just a little bit clingy. Side effect of the immortality. Guy's lost a lot; when he has something, he holds onto it." He frowned at Horatio's uniform. "What I am worried about is you walking out of this building sticking out like a sore thumb. That would be tempting fate. Hm… you're about the same size as Henry, too, aren'tcha? If a little skinny. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if we raided his closet."

Before Horatio could respond, Abe dragged him into the master bedroom. "Let's see what we've got…"

* * *

Horatio emerged from the room wearing a dark blue shirt and a pair of short tan trousers - "khaki shorts," according to Abe. The shorts, looser than his own breeches, ended at his knees, but the stockings - socks - Abe had given him rose only to just below his ankle, leaving his undefined calves completely exposed. The shirt felt incomplete as well, its sleeves terminating above his elbows. Abe had insisted that he leave the collar unbuttoned, for reasons unknown. Horatio had never cared much about his personal modesty, but neither had the prevailing fashion in his time allowed for short clothes. The experience was new to him, though not entirely unpleasant. He certainly would have appreciated a pair of such shorts when he'd been stationed in the West Indies. The laced grey shoes he now wore also had less of a heel than he was used to, but they felt more comfortable because of it.

Having trussed Horatio up to his satisfaction, Abe returned to his breakfast. Before Horatio could make it downstairs, however, the old man thrust a small object into his hands, along with a slip of paper with a set of numbers written on it. "If you get lost or anything, flip open the phone, punch in that number, and hit the green button," he said. Utterly clueless about what was supposed to happen if he did so, Horatio placed the mystery object and the slip of paper into the pocket of his shorts, deciding not to question it for now.

He stepped out of the antiques shop and into the faintly rotten-egg-scented New York air. It was early in the morning, but the sky was light and there were already people on the streets. They hurried along, none having a glance to spare for him. He supposed that was the benefit of the new clothes. Now he could blend in.

Navigating the streets posed a challenge at first; he was nearly struck by one of the cars that flew down the roads. In his time, the streets had been narrow, and this had necessitated that they be shared by pedestrians and carriages alike. Observing the people walking around him soon showed that they were confining themselves to the raised paths along the side of the road, and only crossing where the streets intersected and the signal-lights ahead of them flashed green.

Having figured this out, he found he no longer needed to worry about the cars and was free to admire the cityscape. One of the first things he'd noticed yesterday was how tall the buildings were, and that fact still amazed him. There were some off in the distance that were higher than anything he'd ever seen, practically touching the clouds. The trade-off for this wonder, however, seemed to be that the architecture was utterly tasteless. Anything above three stories was just a featureless block, in colors ranging from grey to taupe. And in an odd show of extravagance,some of the tower-like buildings seemed to be all glass. There must not be any sort of window tax here if the Americans could afford to build such things.

He reached a street lined with shops, and glanced into them as he passed. Some things were familiar; there was a bookshop, a pub, a tailor's. In other shops, he couldn't even identify what was being sold. There was one window, for instance, which displayed only a row of thin rectangular objects with flat, black faces, and another that promised games but only offered white or black boxes of varying sizes and small discs covered with intricate artwork. Then there were the Starbucks. Horatio passed by two of them within ten minutes; the name didn't give him any hints as to what sort of merchandise could make Mr. Starbuck rich enough to own two stores. Nor did the twin-tailed mermaid pictured above each door. He didn't think the wares were sea-related, since the only things he saw patrons leaving with were large cups.

Amazingly, a few streets more brought him to yet another Starbucks. This time his curiosity got the better of him and drove him inside to see for himself what was being sold. On the wall behind a long counter was a menu with a selection of drinks, nearly all of them appearing to be varieties of… coffee.

Horatio took a deep breath in through his nose; the scent of coffee filled the air, strong and rich. It actually made his fingers twitch with desire. He now wished he had asked Abe to borrow some money. It felt like ages since he'd had a good cup of coffee, and this Starbucks seemed to have an endless array of blends to choose from. There were dark roasts, cappuccinos, frappuccinos, espressos… he had no idea what many of the names meant, but he intended to try all of them.

Sadly, having no recent currency, the sweet ambrosia was most likely out of his reach; he doubted the bespectacled employee behind the counter would accept a couple of pennies dated 1804. It was with extreme reluctance that he turned to leave the shop, but stopped when the door opened to admit a familiar face.

"Hi Horatio," Jo said with a bemused smile. "Almost didn't recognize you in your new digs."

"...Digs?"

"Clothes. You look nice." She joined the queue that snaked around in front of the counter. "What are you doing here?"

Horatio followed her without joining the line. "I noticed several of these shops and grew curious about what they sold."

"Ah. Well, it's coffee."

"I can see that," Horatio said, his yearning gaze drawn to the stream of dark liquid being poured by an employee behind the counter.

Jo noted his expression. "You want anything? My treat."

Horatio felt, for pride and politeness' sake, he should decline. He instead found himself saying "Yes, thank you" and sliding into the queue. Times certainly had changed, he reflected. A week ago women had been entirely financially dependent, and now here he was practically begging one for a cup of coffee. He found he did not exactly disapprove the change; since Barbara had brought the lion's share of the money to their marriage, it had always bothered him that she was forced to ask his permission for its use. She would have liked this new world, he was sure. The thought brought with it a melancholy feeling, which he immediately did his best to suppress. The past was gone forever now, and he couldn't afford to dwell on it.

After a few more minutes of waiting, he followed Jo out of the shop, a large - "venti" - cup of coffee in his hand. Not caring about the beverage's temperature, he took a huge gulp, then let out a contented sigh. It wasn't the very best coffee he'd ever tasted, but it came damned close. It was leagues better than anything Styles could produce, at any rate. And it was remarkably fortifying; after only a few sips, he felt strangely energetic, his slight early-morning weariness completely forgotten. He felt alive, buzzing with adrenaline. Of course, he knew the effects of coffee, but never before had he experienced them this strongly. It took another three gulps for him to realize that his fingers were twitching, but he didn't dare stop now. He finished off the cup and tossed it to the side of the road.

"Hey! No littering!" Jo picked up the empty cup and threw it into a large metal cylinder. "If you have trash, it goes in the trash can. Don't make me write you a fine."

Horatio wasn't sure what he'd done that was so offensive, but he didn't feel inclined to argue. "My apologies."

The police-woman had her own cup of something called a latte, and seemed to be eyeing Horatio thoughtfully. "Hey," she said eventually, "you would know practically everything about that ship from yesterday, right?"

Horatio tilted his head slightly. "...I'm not entirely sure what you mean."

"Well," Jo said, seeming a little undecided, "I'm actually heading back there now as part of a case."

"Case? What sort of case?"

"Murder by decapitation." Jo casually took a sip of her latte. "Your Hotspur's being made into a museum, and it turns out the victim worked there. It could be helpful to have someone along who knew a lot about that ship and would be able to tell if something was off." She looked at him pointedly.

Horatio blinked, taken aback. "Ah… I suppose… but I am not a police officer." He felt safe in assuming there were rules about that.

Jo waved dismissively. "If anyone asks, we'll just say you're a consultant. Captain Gregson uses them all the time, so it's no big deal. Besides, it's not like you'll actually be involved in the investigation. More like a personal tour guide. Nothing illegal, I promise." She raised an eyebrow. "Well? You in?"

Horatio had to admit that the idea of witnessing a murder investigation intrigued him, and it stroked his ego to be relied upon as an expert. He did in fact know every square inch of the Hotspur . It would doubtless be satisfying to do something useful instead of continuing to mope about his situation. And the effects of the coffee were making him itch for action. After a moment or two of thought, he nodded. "Very well."

Jo smiled. "Great! Come on." She motioned him towards the right, where Horatio saw with a sinking feeling that her car rested at the side of the road. He repressed a shudder. "Ah, is it completely necessary that we use that machine…?"

Jo clearly noticed his unease, but didn't seem sympathetic. "Unless you want to walk for an hour."

"As a matter of fact - "

"Get in the car."

* * *

 **AN: I have actually rewritten this story pretty significantly since the last time I posted a chapter on this site, mostly with regard to how the murder-mystery part plays out. So I've updated all the previous chapters to reflect that.**


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